Beware Those Exiled
by It's-A-Passion
Summary: So, the boys run into something they've never encountered before. A Grigori. And before they know it, she's on the road with them. Hunting things and saving people. Eventually, Dean warms up to her and his protective nature means she'll always be safe. But he can't alway protect her, and Sam seems to be getting weirder and weirder. OC POV, Set 02x08, will follow episodes, Dean x OC
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, there, thanks for reading. **

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I walked down the street as casually and inconspicuously as I could, given the circumstances. Adrenaline rushed through my body and my shoulders were visibly tense, so much so, if anybody cared to pay enough attention to me, they would notice it. Although, the way my fingers kept twitching to my side, the quick and subtle glances over my shoulders, the shallow breathing were all dead give a ways. That is, if anybody looked close enough.

But most people didn't.

But that was okay, actually, it was kind of the point, because my barely noticeable actions were meant for only one type of person to see.

My hands were cold and clammy and I wiped them on my jeans. Then, I spied exactly what I needed; a deserted alleyway. It was as close to perfect as I would probably get, so I turned down it, turning left and going behind the front buildings, away from the public. And then I waited.

The thin material of my white shirt did nothing to stop the cold from the brick wall leeching through to my body as I leaned against it. The tingling at the base of my spine started up again and a shudder went through me. It was close. My hands shook with the effort to keep them still as I waited, though I so desperately wanted to reach into my worn combat boots and grab the knife that I always kept there.

In less than three seconds, a man turned down the alleyway, his footsteps echoing and bouncing around. He turned the corner and I only just managed to stop the grimace escaping from my mouth. The man was tall, much taller than me, though it wasn't a difficult feat, and he had at least sixty odd kilos on me. Again, I was reminded of my unfortunate height of 5'2. In my line of work, it would have been better to be six foot, with lean muscle, and a straight frame. But oh no, I get stuck with the curves and soft skin. I wasn't really complaining though, definitely not. It was just times like these when I could see the perks of not being me.

The man ran a hand through his short ash blonde hair and I tried to appear frightened. I backed up, my eyes darting around for an exit, though I knew there was only one and it was currently being blocked by the man.

A feral grin twisted the otherwise handsome features of his face as he stalked towards me. This was the part that I hated of lure-and-deceive, my tactic I'd devised long ago; I had to trap myself in a corner. It wasn't hard though, Exiles and demons were drawn to my kind like a moth to an open flame. I don't know what it was about us that was so enticing.

And then my back hit the wall at the end of the alley and I glanced nervously around as he stalked towards me, so close now that I knew it to me the moment to strike, when his surprise would be greatest. His hand came up and cupped my cheek and I slapped it away, my hand swooping down and grabbing the hilt of my dagger. I pushed the tip into his chest at the same time his eyes widened in recognition.

"Grigori," he spat, a thick accent colouring his words. It always amazed me how human-like Exiles could be, even taking on accents.

"Exile," I replied, a small smile tilting my lips. "What is it about all of you? Every last one of you falls for the bambi act, hook, line and sinker."

I should have known better than to taunt an Exiled angel; it only makes them angry. And talking gives them time to get themselves together and act. Baiting him meant I lost my surprise and I was about to pay for it. He stepped back, the speed and grace belonging to an Exile never ceased to amaze me and the next second I was taking a blow to the side of my head.

Pain exploded inside my head and I gasped in surprise, but not letting myself react to it. In return, I smacked him one good in the jaw. His arms swung at me and I blocked, as fast as I could, though not fast enough to deflect a blow to my gut. This time I did double over. A dry cough made its way through my constricted windpipe and I spat away blood as his fist collided with my shoulder. Grigori were genetically programmed to kill Exiles and demons, and they in return sought to kill us. If they succeeded, the human race would be left unprotected.

"What is it about all of you? Every last one of you are going to die and you don't seem to care," he retorted back.

I ducked his next swing, and landed a round house kick to his stomach, following it through, I got past his defences and slashed his stomach with my knife. Energy crackled around it at meeting his flesh and he let out a yelp, long fingers grasping his stomach. Blood seeped through his fingers, but only for a moment as the wound healed itself. His height and weight were an advantage over me, but being smaller meant it was easier to duck.

He slammed me back against the concrete wall and stars danced in my eyes. Pain lashed up my back and head, the blow reverberating and making me dizzy. He pulled his fist back and I saw the blackness of his soul as he thrust it at my head. I ducked just in time, his fist connecting with the bricks. I danced away out of his reach and as he lunged for me, his arm pressing into my neck and forcing me back against the wall, choking me. His body pinned me there, making it impossible to move. He was strong, so very strong, and his arm was crushing my neck. I dangled off the ground, my toes desperately seeking a brace as I gasped for air. If I couldn't find one, I was going to die. My vision blurred and I kicked out, though it did no good.

What did Birdie always say? Oh yeah, _only fight what you can handle._ Maybe I should have payed more attention.

Then next thing I knew, I heard someone shout, "Hey," and there was a loud bang. The Exile dropped me and spun around as I crumpled to the ground, my hand at my throat.

"Did you just…shoot me?" the Exile asked, his voice filled with curiosity and amusement. Sweet oxygen filled my lungs and looked up to see two guys standing at the end of the alley, the shorter of the two was holding a gun, which he had obviously just fired at the Exile. Was he stupid? Guns didn't even tickle Exiles.

"You stupid humans!" I rasped, struggling to my feet, not even bothered by the momentary slip. If the Exile got to them, they were dead anyway.

"Oh shit," the one with the gun said, as the Exile stalked towards them.

"Way to piss it off Dean," the other one said.

"Yeah, didn't think that one through," Dean said, holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture as the Exile reached them. "Look, man I'm sorry," he began as the Exile slammed them into the wall, easily holding them there.

My fingers fumbled with my knife, skin scrapping off my knuckles as I grabbed it off the concrete in a hurry. I ran at the Exile as he swung around, forgetting the humans and lunging at me, fist flying. I used his weight against him, grabbing his curled hand and launching his over my shoulder. He hit the concrete with a slap and I landed on him, holding the tip of my dagger right over where his heart was.

"Repent, and your sins will be redeemed," I told him, offering the same option each Grigori gives to an Exile. Sweat shone on my forehead, chest rapidly rising and falling while the Exile struggled to wriggle away. Each time he did, I pressed the dagger in harder and he'd let out a cry of pain.

"Never, Grigori," he spat, like I knew he would. None of them ever take the deal and ask for redemption, even at the cost of their lives.

"Then have fun in Hell," I snarled, sliding the dagger into his ribcage. Pure white energy crackled along the blade inside him and I felt the Glory slide along under my skin. No doubt I was a shining beacon of pure white light as his body let out a shudder before turning to ash and disappearing completely.

I pushed myself up on shaking legs. There was a loud thump and suddenly I was falling into darkness.

...

When I regained consciousness, I felt like I was going to vomit. I could still taste blood inside my mouth and my throat felt raw and parched. My body ached from where it had been slammed around, but worst of all was the throbbing inside my head. If I didn't know it was impossible, I would say it was going to explode.

My eyes cracked open and bright daylight stung them. A groan escaped my lips before I realised my hands were tied behind my back and I was strapped to a wooden chair. Panic set in, and I started pulling at the ropes, trying to get free. The coarse material rubbed my wrists raw, but I ignored it, trying to get free.

"That's not going to do any good," a voice said to my right.

"Says you," I snapped back before it dawned on me that I wasn't alone. My head whipped up and I focused on the two men from the alley, the ones who shot at the Exile. If the situation wasn't so dire, I would have laughed. Really, shooting an Exile. Priceless.

"Says me," the voice confirmed and the name Dean worked its way back to me from my jumbled memories. He had short sandy coloured hair, half way between brown and blonde, and piercing eyes that kept you guessing whether they were blue, hazel or a light shade of green. And, I couldn't completely ignore how toned and strong his body looked from my position.

I pinned him with an annoyed stare, "I save your asses and this is how you repay me? By tying me to a chair?"

"What the hell are you?" Dean asked. I noticed he had my knife in his hands and he was spinning it in his well-practised and scarred fingers.

"What do you mean?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"Grigori? The Watchers? Angels of the Eighth Choir sent to watch over man," the other guy said, his curly brown hair covering his forehead. He kind of reminded me of an adorable puppy.

"Wow, you boys work fast. I'm impressed," I told them, smiling. "Tell me more," I begged, grinning.

"Fine. You fell for the daughters of man and created the Nephilim race, and when God saw what you had done, he recalled you," he said.

"If you know so much, why did you bother asking?" then I realised something, "Did you hit me on the head?"

"Except, Angels aren't real. God isn't real. You aren't real," Dean said. "And you just want us to believe your grigori?"

"Hate to break it to you sunshine, but I'm real. I'm sitting right here. Is it so hard to believe that Angels exist?"

"Yes," Dean told me.

I sighed, rolling my eyes.

The other guy started again, "The Bible says-"

I cut him off with a laugh, "The Bible? Oh, gosh. I don't want to be the one to tell you this, what with your devout religiousness and belief and all that, but the scriptures get stuff wrong."

"All right, then what is real?" the other guy asked.

"What's your name? Who are you?" I asked.

"Sam," he replied. "That's my brother Dean. We're hunters."

"Well, Sam, I'm one of the good guys so would you mind untying me? And what the hell is a hunter?"

"I don't think so," Dean said.

I sighed. "We hunt things that go bump in the night," Sam told me.

"Yeah, things like you," Dean snapped.

"Oh." I mulled this over, "That's actually pretty interesting."

"Yeah, fan-freaking-tastic, now tell us what the hell you are," Dean demanded.

"Is this your usual interrogation style?" I asked him. "Do they usually tell you when you bark at them like that?"

I sighed when his face remained a stony mask. "Look, before you two turned up playing the hero part, I got smacked around a bit, so I'm in a lot of pain and this wooden chair is definitely not helping. Just untie me and let me lay on that bed and I'll tell you everything, okay?"

Sam stood up and moved towards me, but Dean put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Untying her. Don't you trust her?" Sam asked. "It's weird, but I do."

"There is no way we're untying it until we know what it is and how to off it," Dean said.

"Uh, I'm right here. I can hear you. And I don't appreciate being referred to as an it; I'm a girl. And I'm part human, so would you just untie me? It's not like I can get past both of you at the same time," I snapped. Lies. If I tried really hard, I could probably get past them, but I hurt too much to even bother. Plus, that bed was looking very comfy right now.

Sam and Dean had a stare down and then Sam walked over and untied me, "Thank you," I breathed, getting up and walking over to the bed. As I sat down I involuntarily let out a moan of ecstasy; the bed was so soft and it felt very good on my sore body. The bruise on my face was still throbbing, actually my whole head was, "Do you have any ice? It'll help the swelling from my bruise go down," I asked, directing my question at Sam, because right now, he seemed nicer.

Sam left the room and came back a moment later with ice wrapped in a towel. "Thank you," I said, pressing it against the side of my head, wincing at the coldness. "Okay, so what do you know so far?"

"Well," Sam started, "It says that God sent you to watch over man but then you fell for the daughters of man, creating the nephilim race in the process. God called you back."

"Close," I smiled, "Very close. Let me guess, that's from the bible?"

"Yeah."

"Right, well, considering that writing stuff down only started thousands of years _after_ any of this stuff actually happened, it's not surprising that they got the facts mixed up when they have to rely on Oral Tradition. So, first of all, Grigori are not full angels. We're part angel part human, I would say closer to human really, than angel. Grigori are human watchers, like their guardians; we protect them from demons and the Exiled. There used to be a lot of us, but not anymore. I'll explain why, but first, I'll start at the beginning. Are you going to interrupt me?" I asked Dean.

"No," he frowned.

"Are you sure, because you look like the kind that would," I tell him skeptically.

"I won't," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

"Okay then. When God created man, he loved them more than any other of his creations. I don't know why, He just did. And so, when He knew that the Horde, an onset of Demons entering the world, were coming, he created Grigori to watch over them. We were warriors. The Grigori did a good job, they protected man well. The number of Grigori and demons were about even. But then, Angels started to fall. There were many who did not like being second best to weak, puny humans, when they were so close to God and so powerful. And yet, they envied man; they envied their emotions, their ability to _feel_. And so, they rejected God and became human, creating their angel forms into a human body. But they couldn't make themselves feel like humans, and they became frustrated. Some wanted to go back, but once they rejected God in that way, they couldn't go back to being an Angel. So they were stuck on earth and they became twisted and evil; everything God had not intended for them. Exile's keep their strength, keep their powers to an extent, and they played with humans, making them their own toys. They hunted Grigori down, their numbers combined with the number of Demons made it near impossible for them to survive.

The Exiled are the ones who mated with the daughters of man and created the nephilim. The great floods God sent were to eradicate them and as far as we know, they were all killed. Grigori numbers dwindled. Our presence draws demons and Exiles to us for some reason, there's something enticing about us, and there used to be so many that it was easy to locate a Grigori. But when our numbers decreased, we found it was easier to survive; a smaller presence meant that our draw, our allure wasn't as strong and we could remain unseen easier. I would estimate our current numbers spread all over the world to be about two hundred in total, we sort of have an assigned town to watch over. So, that's our history. Any other questions?"

"Yeah, do you actually expect us to believe that load of crap?" Dean asked.

I sighed, "Look, I don't want to argue with you. You don't believe in God, clearly, but why is it so easy to believe that there's so much bad in the world, and no good at all? Without Love, hate wouldn't be hate. Good wouldn't be good without evil. There has to be the presence of one for the other to exist, Dean," I said gently.

"I have a couple questions," Sam said, and I looked at him, waiting. "Uh," he cleared his throat, "How are Grigori created?"

"Depends," I said.

"On?"

"Well, there are two ways; have you heard of the Immaculate Conception?"

"With Mary?" Sam said.

"Yeah, well, it's kind of like that. When a woman becomes pregnant, the angel-parent weighs the presence of good and evil in her, and decides whether she is the right choice; I don't know how, though. Then, if she is the right choice, the angel-parent appears to them and gives them the choice; carry a Grigori, warrior of earth's people, or carry a normal baby. They forget the encounter after it happens, so there're no people raving about, saying they've seen angels. The angels sort of, give a part of their essence to the mother and it stays in her until the baby is born. Their essence is why we have Glory."

"Why do they give her a choice?" Sam asked.

"Glory?" Dean asked, at the same time.

"First of all, because humans were given free will by God, so they have the right to choose. Secondly, because, for a child to transition and become a Grigori, the mother then has to die shortly after birth. I'm not really sure why, I think it has to do with the strain of carrying something so pure inside themselves. And Glory is an angel, or part angels connection to God," I tell him at the same time that I let the Glory shine on my skin. The tingles run under my skin and pure white light shines out from me. I pull it back in. there's a moment when they're silent, thinking this over.

"What's the other way?" Sam asked.

"The second way is for a Grigori to find their soulmate. If the woman gets pregnant, the Grigori parent can choose whether their child will be Grigori or not. If they choose for the baby to be Grigori, then when they die, their angel essence, given from their angel-parent, goes to the child at birth and they die shortly after. If they choose not, then the baby will just be normal."

"Soulmate?" Sam asked.

"Every Grigori has a soulmate that is…destined, I guess, for them. Grigori don't have sex until they find that soulmate," I tell him, blushing slightly. Not really something I want to talk about to two guys I don't even know.

"What was with the whole, "Repent and your sins will be redeemed" thing?" Dean asked. He hadn't moved throughout my whole story, but Sam had slowly moved closer to me. Almost as if he was drawn to me, which didn't make any sense; only Exiles and Demons were drawn to us in that way. And he was human. Wasn't he?

"We always give them a choice; say their sorry for their sins and I don't send them to hell," I said simply, switching hands to hold the icepack.

"So, if they say they're sorry, they get to go on their merry way? Just like that? In our experience, evil creatures tend to lie," Dean said pointedly.

"No, if they choose redemption, then instead of sending them to hell, I take away their angelic powers and they become human. They're no stronger, no faster, no…better, I guess would be the word, than any other human. Essentially, they are human. But none of them ever choose redemption. They're too proud, even when they're about to be sent to Hell. Idiots, really."

"You said you have an assigned town to watch over; is this your town?" Sam asked.

"No," I said automatically. "No. I, um. It's complicated, but lately, I'm not sure why, but they've started assigning human protectors to Grigori. Ridiculous, right? We're supposed to be the protectors of man, and they want to protect us with man? It doesn't make any sense. So, why they tried to assign me a protector, I sort of…ran away. I'm not going to have someone protect me when it's my job. Anymore questions?" I asked tiredly, a slow haze was working its way over my body and I just wanted to sleep. Sleep sounded amazing right now. I yawned, eye lids drooping.

"A lot, actually," Dean said, "Like, how do you die?"

My eyes snapped open and I stared at him, "You don't believe me. You want to, but you won't let yourself," I said quietly. "Grigori understand human intentions, it's probably why most go into the field of psychology and psychiatry," I explain. "There are a few ways for Grigori to die, but if I tell you, you can't go out and kill them just because you don't believe me. We're a line of defence for man. We protect. We're warriors," I sigh.

"Then why is your first line of defence, man?" Dean quipped.

"That's a good question," I said, "But are you going to make judgment on all of Grigori because of what the angels have decided for us? Hardly seems fair."

"You know what's not fair? People dying every day from demons and monsters," anger coloured his voice and I levelled my gaze at him.

"You're right. Why do you think I refused a protector, despite knowing that Exiles all over the world were stepping up their game and hunting us down? Why do you think I stab every Exile I come across? Why do you think I'm constantly bruised? Because I care. I care that people are dying and I'm trying to stop it, okay? I'm trying to help!" I shout at him, angry myself now. "It makes me sick, to think of what every last one of those evil creatures do to humans, for fun. Because they can. My mother chose this for me, died for me, and then my dad was murdered when they came searching for me. I want every last one of the demented, twisted, vile creatures gone, back to Hell, where they can't hurt anyone ever again. You want to know how we die, Dean? In battle. We can either die in battle or of natural causes, like a heart attack. But that doesn't mean we don't hurt, it doesn't mean we don't feel pain, because we do. Each punch to the head, each cut and stab and wound, we feel." I was sitting up on the bed, staring angrily at Dean. My cheeks were flaming and I was shaking again, this time from the effort of not slapping him.

"So, if you want to stab me with that knife, the only thing you'll succeed in doing is ruining my favourite shirt," I said. "We're on the same side, except, Exiles and Demons can guess what I am within a mile radius, if they're smart enough, while you two are just normal humans, hunters, yes, but you can't guess that."

More silence and I looked around the room. "Can I use your bathroom?" I ask, cheeks red still. The question probably completely removed any seriousness from my earlier statements, but I really had to go.

"Yeah," Sam said, and I saw his lips twitch. He thought it was funny too.

I closed the bathroom door and took in a deep breath, calming myself. Placing the ice on the sink, I used the toilet and washed my hands thoroughly before splashing water on my face and looking in the mirror. Light purple discolouration splayed across my left cheekbone, and I prodded it, wincing when I pain erupted where I touched it. Still tender. My long, curly, thick brown hair was messy and my fingers itched for a hair tie to pull it back. My ivory skin was clean, aside from the blossoming bruise, and with the bright light shining into my eyes, they looked a lighter brown than usual.

My white shirt was loose, with a grey, sketched kind of picture of Thumper on it. My light jeans were stretch material, so much easier to move around in when you're kicking Exile butt. I looked out the window, trying to find where I was and how I would get back to the motel I was staying in. since the raid at Birdie's, I'd been on the run and this town was the first place I'd let myself stop at in two days. I was so exhausted from running, hitching rides and zigzagging across the countryside, hoping I wasn't being tailed. I barely made it out of that raid alive. The only one. My eyes stung and I told myself to get it together. There was nothing I could have done to save them, it wasn't my fault. I shouldn't feel guilty about being able to live while they were dead.

When I finally exited the bathroom, Sam and Dean were moving around the motel room, changing shirts. It was then that I noticed Sam's arm was in a small cast, his other long shirt had covered it before.

"Um," I started and Dean turned to look at me. "So, we've decided to trust you. You can thank Sammy for that. We're going to get lunch, I'm starving, and Sammy needs the internet. Do you know where we can get food in Greenwood?"

"Uh, um, there's a diner in the middle of town. So, I can go?" I asked slowly.

"No. Not yet, at least. We need to make sure you are who you say you are, so you'll be coming with us," Dean told me. I made noise in the back of my throat at being told what to do and Dean grinned. Though, grinning was definitely an improvement over scowling and angry.

"Fine, but you have to pay from my lunch. I don't have any money on me," I told him, following them outside. Sam laughed and Dean scowled again.

"Oh, my Gosh," I said, stopping as they started getting in a car.

"What?" Dean asked, his eyes darting around like he expected to find something dangerous.

"This car is amazing," I sighed.

"It is?" Dean grinned, looking at me differently. It sounded more like a test than an actual question.

"Yeah. It reminds me of road trips and stake outs. So cool," I said, getting in the back. The leather seats yielded to my weight easily, indicating frequent use and I grinned. So cool.

"Well, that solves it," Dean said, starting the engine up. It was louder than I expected. "There's no way you could be an evil creature," he said, smiling. So, because I liked his car, I'm not evil? I didn't see the logic in that. Sam rolled his eyes at me and I smiled, settling back and feeling something happy settle over me. Yes, Dean was joking and he would still be watching me closely for any signs of evil intent, but that was okay, because it meant actually having human contact. I didn't realise how badly I was craving it until just then. So, even if he would be watching carefully, I didn't care. It seemed that my outburst earlier had hit home and they realised that another person protecting people wasn't so bad, as long as I was who I said I was. Maybe it made them realise we were on the same side. Same cause.

But, it's been a while since I've smiled and actually meant it.

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**Okay, so what did you think? Should I continue, or not?**

**So, there are a lot of interpretations about Grigori on the net and in books, so this is mine. I created my own type of Grigori from a bunch of different sources. Hope you like. :)**

**Oh, and it will basically be a story where my Grigori character (I haven't come up with a name yet. Will be in next chapter if i continue) is on the road with the Winchester boys (She's so lucky), starting from Season 2 Episode 8.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

Dean sat down on one side of the booth and Sam waited for me to sit down on the other side first, probably so I was boxed in and couldn't escape. Smart, on their part. I didn't mind being in the corner; it felt more secure. They hadn't given me my dagger back yet and I wondered where it was. I felt naked and exposed without it. The leather seats of the booth were almost as worn as the ones in their car, and the aroma of cooking food filled the air. My mouth watered and I hadn't realised how hungry I was until just then. Though, starving seemed like a more accurate term.

A waitress walked over, asking for our order and Dean order a burger and fries, Sam order some sort of salad and then they turned to me and I asked hesitantly, "Can I have a cheeseburger? And fries? And a coke?" I half expected them to say no, but they didn't. Dean just sort of seemed surprised.

The waitress walked away with the promise of returning soon with food and I thanked her, turning back to Sam and Dean. "I am so hungry."

"So, I guess Grigori eat human food?" Sam asked and I frowned.

"Yeah, of course. We essentially are human. I'm no different to you in that regard; we eat the same food, do the same stuff. If I want to lose weight, I have to exercise; I can't just magic away some fat. I am a normal human, except I'm a little stronger, little faster, a better warrior than a full human, I can sense when Demons and Exiles are around and I have the Glory. Other than that, I'm just a normal girl of twenty two years." I tell them, tracing a pattern on the table with my fingers. I looked up in time to see Dean staring at me, looking like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.

When our food returned, I started eating straight away, glad to finally have something in my stomach. The burger wasn't the best I'd ever tasted but right now, it tasted like heaven. We ate in silence and I couldn't help thinking how awkward this was, eating lunch with complete strangers. I didn't know what I should talk about, let alone whether I should talk. Would it be helping my case if I said anything? Or would Dean view it as some sort of "evil" creature distraction tactic?

When Sam finished eating, he opened his laptop and started typing away. I wondered what he was doing, but figured I didn't have the right to question him, or look at the screen, so I just ate the rest of my burger and started on my fries.

I was sipping my coke when Sam said, "Well, so much for our low profile, you've got a warrant in St Louis and now you're officially in the Feds database." My drink sprayed back into my glass and they looked at me.

"Warrant? Federal database?" I hissed at them. "Here I was, thinking you were the good guys! You hypocritical jerks, why the hell are you in the Federal database?" I said, looking around for an exit, some way to get past them. I was sitting and eating my lunch with criminals! My fingers wished for my dagger, some form of protection against them and I was half way to leaping over the table

"Relax, will you?" Dean said, glancing around, "You're attracting attention."

My eyes were wide and I stared at him, "Good. If you don't tell me what is going on in the next three seconds, I'm going to scream. And let me tell you, I have quite a set of lungs on me."

"Okay, okay, there was a bit of a misunderstanding. It happens on the job when you're impersonated by skinwalkers and what not. I didn't do anything," Dean snapped.

"Oh, and I suppose I'm just supposed to believe that?" I snapped.

"Well, now you know how we feel," Dean retorted.

"Guys, guys, you both are attracting attention. Attention we don't need," Sam said soothingly, trying to calm us. "Dean, uh, um, wait, we don't even know your name."

"Tessa. Or Tess, whichever you prefer," I said, calming down slightly and thinking properly. "What's a skin walker?" I asked, though from the name, I could guess.

"Like a shapeshifter," Sam said. "You don't know what that is?"

I shook my head, "I only know about Demons and Exiles. Shapeshifters are real?"

"Wow, then are you in for a shock," Dean muttered.

"Everything is real; shapshifters, ghosts, ghouls, witches, demons, vampires, zombies, you name it, it's probably real and we've probably dealt with it." I stare at Sam, eyes wide, Birdie used to say 'Bambi eyes', then turn to Dean who looked dead serious munching on a chip.

"Oh, my gosh." I mutter at the table, thinking it over and trying to breathe. They were serious. Everything is real. _Everything_ is real. Every dark and horrible creature ever imagined is _real_. There's so many, no wonder Grigori are being assigned human protectors. We're probably dying out, there's so much bad. We were outnumbered badly even when there was just Exiles and Demons to contend with. No wonder Dean is so sceptical about me. Where is all the good to equate the evil? I place my head in my hands and try to stop the headache building. "No wonder. No wonder you don't believe me. There are so many bad creatures and only angels as the good ones. You've probably never even seen an angel and then I show up, in the middle of a whole lot of crap, and claim to be part angel. No wonder."

There was a pause and then Dean said, laughingly, "Dude, I'm like Dillinger or something."

I looked up, confused. What is a Dillinger? Sam ignored Dean's humour, admonishing him, "Dean it's not funny, it makes the job harder, we've got to be more careful now."

"What'd they have on you?" Dean asked.

Sam frowned, going back to his computer, uncertainty and petulance entering his voice, "I'm sure they just haven't posted it."

"What, no accessory? Nothing?" He asked, his lips hinting at a laugh. Slowly, my lips became a smile; his sulkiness was funny.

"Shut up," Sam said, leaning back. Wait, is he annoyed that he's not listed as a criminal?

"You're jealous," Dean said, laughing. My smile became full-blown.

"No, I'm not," Sam said, like he was crazy, but it sounded a lot like a yes to me.

"Mmmhmm," Dean said, dunking a fry in sauce and eating, grinning tauntingly at his brother. "Alright, what have you got on the case there, you innocent harmless young man, you," he mocked, drinking. I burst out laughing and Dean turned his grin on me. It made me smile as I giggled.

Sam gave him a look and slammed the lid down, picking up a piece of paper. "Architect Sean Boyden plummeted to his death from the roof of his home he designed."

"Hmm, build a high rise and jump off the top of it, that's classy," Dean said. "When did he call animal control?"

"Two days earlier," Sam told him.

"Did he actually say "Black dog"?"

"Yeah, just "wild, black dog"," Sam frowned. "The authorities couldn't find it and no one else saw it, in fact the authorities are a little confused about how a black dog could get past the doorman, take the elevator up and start roaming the halls like it's the cushiest joint in town. After that, no more calls, he doesn't show up for work, two days later he takes a swan dive."

I wince. That would have hurt so much.

"Do you think we're dealing with an actual black dog?" Dean asked, his arms resting over the back of the booth.

"Well, maybe."

"What's the lore on it?"

"Well, it's all pretty much vague, I mean there are black dogs all over the world, but some say they're animal spirits, some say they're death omens, but whatever they are, they're big, nasty-"

"Yeah, I bet they could hump the crap out of your leg, look at that one," he said, holding up a picture of a very large black dog. Sam and I just looked at him. "Huh?" he looked at us for confirmation. Sam sighed and Dean's grin dropped. "What? They could," he defended.

"Is he always like this?" I asked conspiringly at Sam.

Sam turned to me and covered his mouth with his hand, but spoke loud enough for Dean to hear, "It's a condition."

"Must be serious," I replied, holding my hand up as well.

"Oh, haha," Dean pouted, "Such comedians."

I giggled, picking up another chip and chewing. Then I frowned, "So, how does this hunting thing work? Where do you even go from here?"

"Well, we scope around, talk to the families, that kind of thing. Get a feel for what's going on," Sam said.

"Talk to the families? Seriously? Just knock on their door and say, 'I'm sorry for your loss, but I was wondering if you could tell me all about any supernatural happenings that have occurred in the events leading up to the deceased death. It'll be a big help,'" I asked sarcastically.

"Not exactly like that," Sam said.

"Are you going to teach me?" I asked.

"What?" Dean asked, a chip halfway to his mouth.

"How am I supposed to help?" confusion coloured my tone.

"Oh, no," Dean started, waving the chip around, "You're not helping us. You're going back to the hotel and you're going to wait there for us to get back."

"There are so many things wrong with that," I snapped at him.

"Like what," Dean snapped back.

"Like you just expect me to do what you tell me to do? What if I don't stay?" I retorted, folding my arms across my chest and giving him a dark look.

"Then I'll tie you up again," he replied simply.

"You can't keep tying me up!"

"Watch me," he said, in a no-nonsense voice.

"Oh, you know what?" I said, picking up a chip and throwing it at his head.

"Hey!" Dean swiped at the chip and stared at me indignantly.

"This is ridiculous! How are you going to prove that I'm a Grigori? Huh? What's that? I can't hear you. Oh, yeah, that's because you can't. It's not possible, there's no test, no way to google 'how to see if a Grigori is really a Grigori'. You can't keep taking me around with you and then tying me up when you leave the room. It's not fair." I ranted at them, more so at Dean as Sam seemed to ignoring our fight, not getting involved.

"We'll come up with something," Dean replied.

I let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through my tangled hair and wincing when I yanked at a knot. "No you won't. I can help! I mean, I'm stronger than I look, literally, so it's not like I'm dead weight. Now that I know there's other stuff out there, you can't expect me to just go back to normal, that is, if you ever actually let me go. How can I go back to just offing Exiles and Demons when I know there's a whole nothing level of messed up out there? I can't, especially when I know they're killing people. All that pain and torture and grief, I can feel it, some Grigori have a heightened sense of empathy, so I can _feel_ it. every time I hear something on the news, it's like a blow to the gut, it makes me physically sick. So I'll be hunting those things and who better to teach me than a pair of hunters? People who know what they're dealing with?" I quipped, staring at Dean, completely serious. If I was going to get Dean to trust me, he had to understand that I wasn't going to walk away from something this big and bad.

Dean said nothing, but Sam took the opportunity to say something, "You know, Dean that's not a bad idea. And we could always use the help." He said it cautiously, tentatively, like he didn't want to piss Dean off. Like poking a bear with a stick; poke too softly, the bear either doesn't notice or doesn't care, poke too hard and you may as well have offered

"We don't need help, Sammy," Dean snapped, though it didn't sound as wholehearted as his other retorted comments were.

"No, but it wouldn't hurt," Sam left it there, the suggestion hanging in the air, waiting for Dean either to grab it or push it away. I held my breath.

"Fine," he said, though he wasn't exactly thrilled.

"Fine," Sam said, marginally more thrilled.

"Fine," I said, nervous now that it was really happening. It would be a lot easier to learn this stuff from them when they'd actually dealt with it, then it would if I researched myself.

"But if she kills us in our sleep, it's on your head," Dean said, pointing at Sammy and moving out of the booth, signalling it was time to move. Butterflies surged in my gut.

"Okay," Sam said, serious.

I rolled my eyes, "How many times am I going to have to tell you that I'm telling the truth? I'm one of the good guys."

"We'll see," Dean said.

Dean paid for our food and we walked out, towards his awesome car. "Do you know how to handle a gun?" Dean asked.

I balked, "A gun?"

"Great, we've adopted a novice," Dean muttered to Sam.

"Hey!" I said, indignantly. "I may not know much about guns _now_, but I'm a fast learner and I know how to use a knife. Speaking of which, can I have it back now?"

"Okay, one, you can't always get close enough to use a knife on some of these things, two, that's time we might not have to teach you how to use a gun, and three, no," Dean told me.

I pouted at him, "Please?"

"Don't do that," he said.

"What?" I asked, surprised. "Pout?"

"Yes."

"Why on earth not?" I asked, exasperated.

"Because I very nearly gave it to you," he muttered.

"Really?" I nodded at this new development, "Interesting."

"Just don't do it."

"Are you going to tie me up again if I do?" I asked sarcastically, sliding into the back seat.

"Maybe."

"So," Sam cleared his throat, "If you two have finished your little quarrel, I was thinking we should grab your stuff from wherever it is and take it to our hotel. And you're going to need a suit if you don't already have one."

"I'm staying at the hotel in the middle of town, the one with the red flashing sign," I told them. "And I don't have a suit. Not much use for one," I shrugged.

"Okay, I'll go and get your stuff. Sam, you can go with her to get a suit. I'll drop you off and our hotel isn't far from there. Then we'll get back onto the case," Dean said. Clearly, he was used to being the one in charge and giving orders.

"What?" Sam asked, "I don't want to go shopping. Dean, you go with her, I'll get her stuff."

"No way," Dean said.

"Oh, come on," I laughed. "It's not that bad."

Sam and Dean shared a look that undoubtedly said, "Yeah, right".

"Besides, I'll have to make an ID," Dean said.

"Fine, but you owe me," Sam muttered.

Dean pulled over and I shuffled across the seat to give Dean my key, "Room 7, second floor. Door needs a good shove to open. There's a duffle bag on the bed and a smaller bag in the bathroom, and a handbag on the desk. In the handbag is my wallet, you'll have to pay for the room."

"What, there's no stuff around the room or anything?" he seemed surprised.

"Nope. I'm kind of a compulsive neat freak. Plus, I haven't been here long enough to actually unpack anything yet."

"Right."

"See ya," I closed his squeaky door and walked over to Sam on the footpath. "Lead the way, STAT."

"STAT?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You know, Standing Tall And Talented. Amar'e Stoudemire? Basketball? No, not ringing any bells?" I asked. He shook his head and I shrugged, "Whatever, doesn't matter."

He pushed open the door to a small shop and the smell of peppermint surrounded me. Professional slacks, shirts, blazers, ties, belts, shoes lined the walls and a little lady, about two feet shorter than me walked over, a tape measure handing over her shoulders. She craned her neck up to look at us and I felt strangely tall in comparison. That never happened to me; I was always the one who had to look up.

"What can I do for you two?" she asked, her voice a little wavery. The smell of peppermint was stronger and I realized that it must be coming from her. It was refreshing.

"Uh, my sister is going for a job interview and she wants to look professional," Sam said, easily and if I didn't know better, I would have believed him immediately.

"Oh, how nice," She said. "I remember seeing some jackets over by the mirror that look to be about your size."

"Great," I smiled, following behind her as she weaved through the racks of clothing. She grabbed one, flicking the tag and offering it to me to try on. I slipped it on and it was a perfect fit. My surprise must have shown on my face because she laughed.

"Dear, when you've been doing this for as long as I have, you start to recognize the right sizes right away," she brushed off some stray lint and guided me in front of the mirror. "Very professional."

"Not bad," I muttered, moving my arms about to check the movability. Not too restrictive that I couldn't grab a gun or knife. I smiled at my reflection.

"If you look at some blouses, I'll look for some trousers, or would you prefer skirts?" she asked.

"Uh," I started.

"One of each?" Sam said. "You know, just in case."

She trotted off and I looked at the blouses. They were pretty much all the same; just plain office shirts, but I did find one in a light shade of lilac, and one white one with lace along where the buttons met at the front. The lady came back, passing me some pants and skirts and ushering me towards the changing rooms, giving Sam the evil eye when he tried to follow me, even though as far as she knew he was my 'brother'.

When I was done, I walked back out holding one pair of pants and a skirt when something caught my eye. I paused and looked at the shelf, letting out a sigh of want. A pair of sexy black heels stood there, looking to be size and practically screaming 'buy me'. They were not too high that I wouldn't be able to walk, let alone run if it came down to it, but they were fairly high. Pursing my lips, I considered them, before dropping the clothing on the ground and trying one on. Yep; my size. Twisting and turning my ankle, I decided for them, and I picked the clothing back, walking over to where Sam and the lady were chatting easily.

I showed Sam the heels, wiggling my eyebrows and grinning. He raised his eyebrows. "Don't worry, I'll pay you back as soon as we get to my wallet. The lady rung up the items and then we were out of there, walking back towards the hotel. "Hold on," I said, pulling the heels out and placing them on the pavement. "I'll need to wear them in." Holding Sam's arm for balance, I slipped my feet into the shoes. I looked at Sam, whose neck was now at my eye level.

"I have a question," Sam said once we resumed our journey.

"Hmm?" I said, indicating his cue to talk.

"Well, don't take this the wrong way but you're kind of…small to be a warrior," he said.

I laughed, "True. But what I lack in size, I make up for in different things. I wasn't kidding when I said I was a fast learner. And I'm a pretty good strategist. Plus, sometimes being small is helpful; I mean, it's easier to duck, for one."

"Makes sense. I was trying to figure out why-"

"Why an angel would choose someone as small as me to protect people?" I asked for him.

"Uh, yeah."

"Good question. But I like to believe that everything happens for a reason, so there's a reason why."

We walked in silence all the way back to the hotel room, which was only another five minutes but it felt like forever in these shoes. The material was stiff at the edges, so it cut into my skin a little around the back of my heel but I was glad when we walked into the hotel room.

That is, until I saw Dean pointing a gun at my duffle bag.

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam asked, automatically grabbing his gun from his jeans, which I didn't even know he had, and pointing it at me duffle bag as well.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked, completely serious as a tiny furry head with almond shaped green eyes poked its head out of the gap where the zipper wasn't closed all the way.

"Whoa," I said, holding up my hands and standing in front on the duffle bag. My kitten slid out of the bag, stretched and started purring loudly, rubbing itself against my ankles and weaving around my legs. "Were you going to shoot my cat?" I asked, outraged. "Hey, Ink," I murmured to him, picking him up. The purring increased and I gently rubbed behind his ears.

I glanced over and saw that Dean was still holding his gun at us. He raised his eyebrows, "A black cat?" he gestured at Ink with his gun.

"Yep," I said.

"Sammy, aren't black cats omens of evil?" Dean asked, in an aside to him.

"Uh-"

"Okay, first of all, it's ridiculous to judge a cat by the color of its fur. Ink, here, happens to be the sweetest thing in the world. Secondly, various traditions view black cats as good luck, some say they're bad luck. I know, that if you invite a black cat into your house in Scottish tradition, it brings good luck, or something like that. Thirdly, with so much contradiction, I've decided that it's a matter of perspective, so I choose to believe they're good luck." I said defiantly, stroking Ink's soft fur. "His name is Ink, do you want to pet him?" I asked, attempting to break the 'meaningful' stare Dean was giving Sam. I held Ink out to Dean who lent backwards when Ink hissed at him, swiping his claws. "Whoa, he doesn't like some people. It's probably because you pointed a gun at him. He doesn't appreciate it," I tell Dean pointedly.

"It's just a cat," Dean muttered.

"Aha!" I shouted, pointing at him, "If it's just a cat, what does it matter if it's black or if it belongs to me? Huh?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Whatever."

I picked up my stuff in one hand, with difficulty, and placed it on the bed, along with Ink, who padded along to the pillow at the top and made himself comfortable.

"That's now your bed," Dean told me.

I searched around for my wallet in my handbag to pay Sam back while also giving Dean a funny look. He's just a cat. I pulled out the right amount of cash and gave it to Sam, who thanked me, very politely.

"Right," Dean clapped his hands together. "Let's get ready. You won't have any fake ID so we'll just say you're job shadowing us," he said to me. I nodded, grabbed my new clothes and shot gunned the bathroom first.

I grinned at my reflection in the mirror as I thought of Barney, from How I Met Your Mother, saying "Suit up". Suit up I will.

* * *

**So, what did you think?**

**Be honest, even if it's just to say it sucks and I should stop.**


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